


marinated in your hate

by oceansinmychest



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Banter, F/F, Minor Violence, One Shot, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 07, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:35:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24708436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceansinmychest/pseuds/oceansinmychest
Summary: Beyond the bars, they shared a muddied past. False pleasantries aside, they’re poison to each other. The two of them value loyalty skewed by personal perception where anguish is a tool for leverage. For months, even years, Kaz Proctor and Marie Winter have danced around each other, only to clash when they come together.
Relationships: Karen "Kaz" Proctor/Marie Winter
Comments: 3
Kudos: 10





	marinated in your hate

**Author's Note:**

> Rewatching Wentworth for the millionth time a few months ago allowed me to consider the potential between Kaz and Marie. I synthesized some canon material from seasons six and seven to create this piece. I'm so looking forward to the new season. Anyway, hope you all enjoy. x
> 
> Shoutout to the wonderful MsYukari for giving it a look over for me! :3

Kaz Proctor’s white trainers hit the ground exercising the epitome of violence. With revile, her nonchalant stroll allows for her hands to thrust into her pockets. Grappling with her conscience, Kaz stepped up to the challenge since the women needed a leader. In solitude, she questions her abilities, but proves to be a natural. Neither Mr. Jackson nor Miss Bennett have any qualms about her aptitude. Despite the odds, Karen still has her integrity and doesn’t succumb to complete corruption. Abiding by her principles, look where it bloody well got her.

Making peace is a complicated frat. This, she knows. From Kaz’s experience, these women enact brutality through sly glances, soft caresses, and crass remarks. She finds herself nearly incapable of bashing the women to keep them in line through a war waged against manipulation.

Now, that twelve-month sentence of hers is bound to stretch on and echo for an eternity. H3 becomes home. She settles in, decorates her room, looks after her immediate circle and those beyond.

In her budding agitation, Kaz doesn’t expect Marie to enter the tiger’s pit.

Despite their tedious disagreements, Marie has come to respect Kaz. She offers a consolatory smile, her pale hands clamped before her waist, as if she’s stepped right out of church rather than a calculated drug deal. Marie Winter is one of those fair-weather friends. There one minute and gone the next when her needs suit her or your value dissipates.

Marie wants something from her. Of what, Kaz remains dubious. Furrows her brows and her expression almost resembles a sullen pout. Winter finds it strangely endearing.

Time behind bars allows her to reflect over her beloved son. A mother’s love knows no bounds. Loss cuts as deep as the womb when emptied. Marie’s cool simmering rage overshadows her mourning; she mutes the pain through substances. The compassionate part of Kaz bleeds for the magnitude of Marie’s grief over her dear Danny boy. Should anything happen to Allie, Kaz would never forgive herself.

“Fifteen years is a long time to spend together,” Marie Winter muses aloud, the curve of her delicate back nudging the doorframe when she folds her arms across her chest. “Good intentions led astray seduce you, Karen.”

Marie speaks as if she knows her, her sorry life, her childhood, her pain. It rubs her raw. Exposes her as an open wound that refused to scab over.

Like the heat from a brilliant flame, her compassion fades. As a reflex, Kaz clenches her jaw. Loathes the disregard of her nickname, the one she prefers and has come to love. Fingers curl, itching to form fists. Her chewed, blunt nails dig into her palms and leave behind little crescent moons.

Even before her rise to the legacy of Top Dog, Kaz is quick to brand and categorize villains. On the edge of her cot, she mirrors Marie. Without fully realizing her actions, she folds her arms across her torso. Hugs her chest a bit too tight. Her nails graze her ribcage, buried beneath her singlet, buried like Joan. Her hands inch towards her back, towards her spine, until the guarded embrace falls lax. Exhaling deeply, Kaz closes her eyes. Reflects on all that ever was.

Beyond the bars, they shared a muddied past. False pleasantries aside, they’re poison to each other. The two of them value loyalty skewed by personal perception where anguish is a tool for leverage.

“Have you come for your public humiliation?”

A light taunt from Kaz ensues. Her eyes crack open akin to the hungry pilot light when the gas ignites. Although she snarls, she doesn’t grin. She won’t let this woman get the better of her.

Bickering fuels haphazard seduction. With her anger as explosive as dynamite, Kaz can hardly swallow the bile that surges up through her. Heckled, she bites her lip, dragging her teeth across the bottom one until they’re chapped and swollen. Grief and rage make for quite the flavor. 

What hell they cause, threatening a riot and stirring up unhinged, restless women.

Kaz likes to think that martyrdom runs through her veins. She prefers to act rather than to deliberate, to plan things out.

“So self-righteous. How precious,” Marie coos. She nearly laughs after that practiced movie star smile. “I have no intentions of harming you. I’m not a violent person. You, on the other hand, have violence in your blood, Kaz.”

Her confession beckons a loose shrug, Winter’s arms fall lax by her sides.

Words rival shallow cuts that sting and sing. Unable to ignore all that transpired between them, Kaz and Marie continue to engage in petty banter.

“Still recruiting girls?” Kaz sneers with the vehemence of a Valkyrie. “You’ve ruined so many lost, innocent souls. And for what? To feed your empire that runs on blood money?”

Towards Marie, always towards Marie, she harbors fugitive resentment.

Marie’s brittle smile chips and twitches. Possessing an infuriating knack for patronizing, she resembles a Barbie doll beauty on the surface and something far worse underneath. She challenges Kaz, enters her personal space, and dares to kneel before the seated woman on her uneven, lumpy bed. She rests a hand upon her knee though it’s less than kind.

“How goes your little vigilante cult, mm?”

Oh, how she malingers with an upturned chin and a jut of the jaw.

With spite in her eyes, the tiger has a bite to her. Menace accompanies their delicate touches, steadfast manipulation.

Marie Winter is plastic bound to come apart. Her eyes are the kind of inviting, murky blue that you could drown in, but it’s that suggestive look that causes Kaz’s stomach to cramp and clench up. She visibly swallows despite the flare of her nostrils and her trembling fists.

Nagging jealousy isn’t what eats away at Kaz; no, it’s the mistreatment of the women and how Marie treats Allie as a mere toy to be played with at her leisure.

Karen has given up on saintly visages. She pours all of herself into every act, every deed, every gesture. It’s everything or nothing.

Exercising the last scrap of resilience, Kaz drives her elbow upward and connects with the tip of Marie’s nose. Cartilage snaps. A vessel pops. For such a miniscule injury, there’s an awful mess. A hand clamps over the tip of her nose and her mouth. She tastes metal on her tongue and swallows it without complaint.. Yet, a bloody nose doesn’t detour Marie. This will heal.

A broken heart hurts more than broken bone ever will.

Far too fiercely, Karen guards her heart. In a fresh shot of adrenaline, her heart leaps up, howls against her ribs, and sticks to her throat. How long has she neglected her desire and empty craving?

“You think you can go around spreading your lies. I run this prison; you don’t own jackshit in here,” she counters, clenching her jaw and grinding her teeth. The chords in her neck jump out.

“We’ll see about that,” Marie hums.

An air of indifference teems behind her.

Opposites come together, only to pull apart. Oil and water seldom mix.

“You are simply my cellmate, Marie. I’m not looking into a bloody mirror.” She seethes, clenched teeth and a horribly tense jaw. The chords in her neck jump out. “Now, get the fuck outta my room.”

She leaves for medical, determined to paint a villain of Kaz to poor Mr. J with his sad eyes and his desperation which makes for quite the cologne.

Baited and lured by the smell of Marie’s cheap perfume, arousal conveys itself through that glacial, hateful stare. Conflicted ,  her gut feeling spins a cautionary tale. Kaz’s aggression comes across as an electric flow, it sizzles and burns. She finds herself baffled by her own desire, her wanting that gets twisted over and over again.

How many times has she watched Marie? In the streets when she scooped up Allie after a relapse, in the laundry room, in the cafeteria, in the hallway, in the courtyard, in the cellblock as they tango away from one another. How many times have they parlayed like this?

Propelled and ricocheted, loneliness urges for the lost to come together, albeit with a tinge of antipathy. They compose a language built on scathing glares and sickly sweet, insincere smiles.

In the showers, they cross paths once more. The curtain gapes open to reveal Marie clad in a terrycloth towel knotted above her breasts. One of her dainty hands clutches a caddy filled to the brim with toiletries. Confident that the towel won’t slip away, she carries about her business.

Still, each woman harbors anger in their own way. 

Marie resorts to a more passive aggressive route.

From the mirror, Kaz watches this woman she’s come to loathe. She holds onto the sink, toothpaste sluggishly trickling down the drain. In her pajamas, she appears less formidable, but nowhere near as vulnerable as Marie in her current state. A sliver of a singlet peers out from beneath her flannel.

Marie comes slithering back to stand in the middle of Kaz’s caustic path. She hovers behind her, all heat from the shower and then some.

“You took Allie away from me,” Marie flings her accusation far too calmly in the blazing trail of vigilante justice.

She’s played Allie for a damn fiddle, sequestered the poor alley cat who sought love and comfort, lost in teal and on the streets. Marie slipped poison into Allie.

Protective over Allie Novak, Kaz has issued her fair share of warnings. She remains nonchalant, glancing over her shoulder and offering a glimpse of her profile.

“Do you always prey on the disadvantaged?” When Kaz asks, she bares her teeth to make for a violent display.

Winter violates all her principles. Marie is a terrible influence on Allie and even on Kaz herself. Marie brings out the worst in people. Perhaps they’ll both become the victims of some archaic Greek Tragedy.

“I like loyalty,” Marie hums in a rather flippant response.

A maddening delirium manifests. Proctor faults the constant throbbing in the back of her skull on her hair twisted into a high ponytail.

“I don’t understand why everyone wants you,” she quips, as tart as can be.

“Oh, Karen. I’ve sweet Mr. Jackson wrapped around my finger.” 

Daintily, she crooks her finger.

“You barely know him.” Kaz declares though her warnings fall short.

_ What a conniving she-wolf. _

There’s history between her and Mr. J. She’s seen Karen and Jackson before, locked together in a hold meant to console, to soothe, to reassure.

“Sweetheart, you lost out. I did what you simply failed to do.”

The world owes Marie a favor. She won’t stop until the boy is hers, until Mr. Jackson is wrapped around her crooked finger though she must confess: the sad, kicked dog routine of Will’s grows a tad stale. Marie is a harpy brimming with sinister intent. She puts on her vaudeville shows and it’s almost sick, but manages to come off as charming. The saboteur strikes Kaz, wounds her deeply.

Fuming, she threatens to explode. She burns like a radiator, no surprise. Kaz’s caustic nature takes root. The thin braid laced within her hair thunders against her head.

She convinces herself that she is disturbed by Marie’s actions, her controlled touches, her pampering of girls as if they’re accessories and not people. It hurts to see Will fall victim to the siren song, to waltz across broken glass, a puppet to Marie’s steadfast advances.

Is it paranoia or is it a wounded acknowledgment?

Flame can never be contained by glass. Maintaining close proximity ,  malicious whispers are exchanged. They carry on in the imitation of a competition.

“You’re dead,” she hisses.

“You loved him,” Marie points out softly, her diamond eyes glimmering, unreadable. 

_ You took him away from me. _

The tempest coils around her, goads her to react with such a calm yet heated look. It’s in the eyes. Her posture offers too many lewd suggestions. It’s a sordid attempt to disparage Kaz. Their eyes meet, two different shades of blue, engaged in a penetrative stare.

Even snakes can be fucking beautiful.

A white singlet hugs her body. Kaz forgets to breathe until a shrill gasp rips through her. Her sweetened breath is swallowed, consumed, devoured.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Kaz grumbles.

She curses how hoarse she must sound. She wonders how her lips, how her succubus mouth, tastes. Instead, her blunt nails graze Marie’s pale, cool cheek. Marie halts the motion, grips her wrist, and runs her thumb along the network of blue veins. Kaz shivers and melts simultaneously.

“I’m a woman of my word, Karen.”

As a ferocious ball of lightning, Kaz uses her seething fury, her teeth, to draw Marie’s mouth to hers. A kiss punishes as much as it tempts.

Temper, temper.

Marie digs her nails into Kaz’s cheek until her grip releents, softens, and her touch coasts along the curve of her neck. Her lips fall slack as she welcomes Kaz into her mouth. She taunts with a hint of tongue before breaking free.

Anger tastes sweeter than honey.

With a smirk, she leaves Karen behind, her bare feet leaving a wet imprint behind.

A hurricane storms down the corridor. She makes her way to Marie’s cell and convinces herself that her intentions are righteous.

She plays the role of the bad guy as mandated by the laws of the land and parades about like a Salomé who will behead her, denying her the veracity of latter-day saints. As tough as nails, Kaz bites back, neglecting her failed attempts to make peace. A homemade bomb ought to wipe that conniving smirk from her pretty face.

Coming to terms with herself in Dr. Miller’s office leads to the repeat offense.

Hollow-eyed, Kaz comes to her, conflict tugging at her heartstrings. With a voice as smooth as honey, it’s easier to swallow razor-blade lies. She’s clean-skin, preferring to keep her hands unsullied. Marie possesses a collection of puppets: Allie, Drago, Will, and now her. Not her. Never her.

Gingerly, Marie tucks a strand behind Kaz’s reddened ear. She touches more than she should. It’s the power of touch that commands. In response, Kaz finds that her teeth drag across her own bottom lip, prolonging the inevitable collision, the collapse of fading stars.

“Have you fallen for my feminine wiles?”

In perfect mockery, Marie purses her plush lips which serves as a lustful invitation for Kaz to pounce.

In retaliation, her forearm catches Marie’s throat. The v of her hand meets that taut, quivering neck. She slams her fists down on both sides, pinning Marie between the wall and her body.

Kaz’s wrath makes her wet, gets her heated. The throbbing between her legs is incentive enough.

Breaching unmarked territory, Kaz finally sinks her teeth deep into her pale flesh. A swelter of purple and red with blue blooming against the layer of porcelain. She tastes of salt and something a little bit sweeter.

Marie sighs.

High tension produces a dizzying, nauseating humidity. She finds it harder to breathe in Marie’s presence. At war with herself, Karen grapples with her conscience, her conflict, and everything else that ails her.

Marie twirls a silken strand around her crooked finger.

“Was it Will you wanted? Did you want to be held by him? Or is it the concept of love, of touch, that you’ve denied thanks to your washed up morals?” The Queen of Saigon croaks.“Let me take care of you, Karen.”

Kaz loathes herself for falling for this ploy. She whimpers, musters a nod, and struggles to stand, to even breathe properly.

A sycophant acts.

Marie initiates a gentle, albeit scorching kiss, light yet decadent, meant to reel Kaz in. She takes her sweet time when touching her. Her fingers feather across her neck, her collarbone, her chest, her quivering belly, her thighs. Clothing hitches higher to reveal tantalizing glimpses of skin. On the defense, Kaz draws her bottom lip in with bared teeth. The tiger devours. She savors the ache, the cruel promise of violence, to remind her that she shouldn’t feel.

“Is it gentleness you crave or a proper fuck?” Marie’s breath caresses the shell of her ear along with a cheeky hint of tongue.

For once, Kaz is rendered speechless, propped against the wall and put on display.

Suddenly, with the ferocity of a howling storm, Marie is upon her and kneeling between her parted thighs. Kaz sinks her teeth into her bottom lip until it bleeds and fuck, does it ever.

What transpires occurs off camera. Together, their tangled bodies depict a blurred and distorted duality. The softness of Marie’s hands surprises Kaz. She captures the scent of her shampoo, fresh and clean.

Her trackie bottoms inch lower until they pool around her ankles in a haphazard puddle. Skilled fingertips meander through that coarse thatch of blonde curls. Downright gluttonous in her indulgence, Marie drags her tongue over and across wet flesh.

_ I’m being eaten, _ Kaz thinks with vague, warped humor as she undulates her hips.

Desire mingles with how much she despises her. With her back pressed against the wall, Kaz shudders and succumbs to the mounting pressure between her legs. That serpentine tongue spears her. Parts past her swollen, aching lips and penetrates as deep as possible. Violently, while burying her shame, she rides out her pleasure.

Despite all her venom, she tastes far sweeter, Marie finds.

Kaz’s mouth flies open in a silent cry. Her nails graze Marie’s scalp. Her hips jut forward, warmth flooding her system. Her senses.

In such violent strife, Kaz’s frantic clawing exposes the floral tattoo adorning Marie’s shoulder-blade. In her dreams and nightmares, those flowers will haunt her.

On top, Kaz teeters; in her position, she showcases her wishy-washy ideals. A bite to her trembling thigh causes her to hiss. This encounter violates her self-righteous principles. Have her morals gone all Helter Skelter?

Kaz whimpers, a fist pounding weakly against her face before she sinks her teeth into her sun-kissed knuckles. She breaks the skin, tastes blood, and it nearly makes her cry - watery eyes and all.

That electric current courses through Kaz. She emits a silent scream, spine curving, the back of her head mutely pressing against the wall. It wouldn’t be surprising if she gave herself a concussion. Her hips spasm and jerk, thighs trembling like a newborn colt. Lost to a blue haze, she forgets to breathe until she remembers again.

Karen’s warped, bleeding heart blames this foul woman for pulling her into the deep blue sea.


End file.
